


The Ritual

by Crucifixation



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Drinking & Talking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friendship, Immortality, Internal Conflict, M/M, Metaphors, Motivational speaking, Murder, Necrophilia, Paranoia, Philosophy, Possible occult, Post-War, References to Drugs, Revolutionary War, Rituals, Self-Mutilation, Simcoe is...Simcoe, That damn bayonet, Trippy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:19:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crucifixation/pseuds/Crucifixation
Summary: John and Edmund reunite one last time.





	1. Apple of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This is my first fic here after years of lurking and almost a year of owning an account. I'm not big on writing fanfiction in general but I love Turn and was just aching to write for it, so, here we are. 
> 
> I know the story seems a little rushed, but it's meant to be succinct. Also, "Enemy" and "Eyes Wide Shut" were strong influences for whatever the hell this is lol.

Simcoe breathed in deeply.

The fresh morning air filled him with higher-than-usual delight for the day ahead.

In fact, this was something like a daily ritual for him.Simcoe was no pessimist. He looked forward to every day where he could come closer to accomplishing his goals. Relying on fate was the coward’s way out--a true man, a self-made man, a warrior, took a hold of his environment and circumstances, and conquered all that was in his path. 

Simcoe relished in his own recent achievements while he surveyed the beautiful English outdoors, sipping on warm tea.He had done many notable things during the war: fighting bravely in battles, defeating his enemies, commandeering a squad of loyal soldiers, tormenting Tallmadge and Brewster, trying to kill that sniveling rat Woodhull, and succeeding in taking out his dear father.Unfortunately he was badly, and suspiciously, wounded in battle before finishing the job with Abraham.Now he had to walk with a cane whilst banished to England.It was not that the country was a foul one per se, he earned himself supple property and friends, but it simply did not give him the same joy as the many colonies did.The colonies at least had excitement!After he settled in the motherland everything became strict ritual, like the daily visits to the morning air.Break the fast, go outside, drink, contemplate, plan, take a walk around the field to gain his strength, no matter how much he wobbled and groaned, drink some more, eat again, oversee the house work, speak with General Clinton whenever he was present, drink, write, work, plan, retire, repeat.It became awfully monotonous, and unless he had his own project to look forward to, Simcoe was easily bored when he had no real duty...or no things to play with when he was done.

Today, however, was a little different.Today he would be seeing an old cohort again.It was time to settle things in his own hands like the “true self-made man" he felt he was. 

Edmund Hewlett buttoned the top of his collar the best he could with fingers trembling. In only a few hours he would be riding out to meet John Graves Simcoe, the man he thought he had left behind on that ship.The man he never wanted to have to ponder on again.But alas, here he was, readying himself for the dreaded meeting.Simcoe had sent him a special invitation asking to join up again and discuss the war, as Simcoe had stated that he was feeling mentally affected by it, and wished to have someone close to him to decide how to carry on.He asked for Hewlett’s counsel specifically.He wanted to be allies that comforted one another, as if the previous events were nothing but a bad dream.Hewlett, of course, at first rejected every offer, burning the constant invitations.He thought Simcoe had finally, completely lost it.It was not until he received only one package delivered to his estate in Scotland, where he and his betrothed were visiting at the time, that Hewlett was shaken.Simcoe apparently knew where he and his loved ones were...in close proximity.The package was a green apple wrapped in white horse hide addressed from “JGS.”When Hewlett became aware of this, a familiar fear that he used to have of the captain suddenly hit him like a lightning bolt of trauma. 

Paranoid, he began wondering if Simcoe, even in his physical state, would try to track him down again because of Hewlett’s threats while he was incapacitated on that ship.Still, he tried to ignore the invitation like he did the others.After all, there was no sure way of knowing if it was truly from Simcoe.But as he attempted to sleep that night, his paranoias grew tremendously.When he did manage to doze off, he was haunted by nightmares of poisoned apples and horses.He had more nightmares consisting of a horse being gutted and eaten in the sun. 

When he awoke, a very clear child’s voice said in his ear, “Help us, sir.” 

Hewlett froze.

For a brief, sleepy moment, the unmoving Hewlett felt pinned to the bed as if overtaken by a demon, which he typically found to be a childish superstition not suited for a man of science.Upon release from the unknown force’s grip Hewlett had a second awakening and figured he was hallucinating. 

For hours upon hours afterward the strangest feeling and convictions washed over him repeatedly, and each time he swallowed hard.He kept thinking deeply on it, as well as re-hearing the child’s voice again and again.Four days later he knew what had to be done.

Perhaps he was himself a lunatic.Perhaps he was being irrational out of emotion.Perhaps he was simply thicker than he thought himself.Perhaps he was worried for those close to him.Perhaps he was a coward.Or perhaps he even missed Simcoe in a twisted sort of way.

Whatever the reason, Hewlett was going to take a chance and see his old enemy, hoping to the depths of his soul that he was still a changed man and only changing more.


	2. Eat, Drink, and Be Wary

After a good while, Hewlett’s carriage came to a stop at Simcoe’s residence. The meeting was to be held there, as Hewlett surmised was likely because Simcoe had more control of the situation.“This is it,” the carriage driver told Hewlett, “though personally I do not see why you would want to set foot in a place that almost seems abandoned it is so quiet.”Hewlett turned to him. “I don’t remember asking for your thoughts on the matter, sir. But you did your job and you got me here, so have at it.” He gave the driver his pay. “You may receive extra next time when you keep to yourself,” he remarked as he left the carriage and stretched his feet. He knew he was being a little prickly, but there was no time for cordiality on such a day.

He looked up and stared at the large house towering over him.Its shadow enveloped him in a dark embrace on the otherwise sunny day.He made the long walk to the front door with hesitance in his step. _Adjust yourself_ , Hewlett told himself, _Simcoe is not the person he once was, especially after what you instilled in him. You have bested him, old man._ Hewlett then smirked confidently as he rapped on the tall oaken door. 

An older woman, a servant he presumed, opened the door. 

“You must be Mr. Hewlett. You’re expected. Please, come in.”

Hewlett walked in as the woman took off his coat and hung it on a nearby rack. “How are you on this fine afternoon?” She asked.

“Oh, I could always be better,” Hewlett responded with a gentle look.

“Hm. I know the feeling. Go ahead and sit in the parlor, and be comfortable. Mr. Simcoe will be here very soon.” She gestured to an open room close to the front door. “If you need anything, please do not delay to fetch me. My name is Opal.” She appeared to be a nice woman, but she also gave off the impression of someone who could also be apathetic if she wanted to, and everything she said to Hewlett had an air of politeness with the ulterior motive of not caring what he had to say and only meaning to rush him inside.

“Noted. Thank you, Miss Opal.” Hewlett settled into a musky armchair in the parlor.While waiting for his tardy host, he observed his surroundings, observance being so integral for scientists.

The parlor was a dreary color. There were a couple windows letting the sun come in and some candles to lighten the darker corners, but overall it was rather dull and undecorated.One thing Hewlett did notice from the moment he stepped in was how pristine the house was.Everything looked old yet not a speck of dust to be found.The house was rather empty, too.There were definitely multiple weapons, especially bayonets hanging on the walls, as well as portraits of what were possibly of relatives, or even random people.There was a masonic symbol, indicating that at some point Simcoe had become a Freemason.Made sense.He probably strived to find an identity being now a retired Ranger.Preserved animal bones and trinkets from the Americas, Africa, India, and the Caribbean lined shelves.These were obviously his only objects of pride, since everything else gave off the feeling of a very abnormal person collecting things of the average sheep in an attempt to feign “normalcy.”

The environment only kept his mind off the meeting for a fleeting moment.Soon his past confidence began to wash away in replacement for returning anxiety, and suddenly he wished he had brought a weapon with him just in case.He scratched at himself, pushed back cuticles, and tapped his fingers and toes in that stomach-churning mix of nervousness and anticipation.His breath and heart grew louder.Where was Simcoe? Was this some kind of joke that he fell for, and thus would only prove to his rival his apparently still lingering naivety? Forbid it!

“Ah! Major!”

Hewlett’s heavy breathing ceased.There it was.There was that annoying, strangely-high-pitched voice that etched into your brain so that you may never forget it, and upon hearing it have the repressed memories wash over you.The voice that could chill fire.Hewlett turned sharply around to look at Simcoe.He was standing in the opposite doorway smiling, cane in hand.Hewlett immediately had a flurry of confused feelings consisting of both hate and pity.Despite his injury, he still looked tall and dignified.Hewlett also noticed that he had hardly even seen him out of uniform--he looked fresher somehow.There was still the same look in his eyes though; as if when you tried to talk to him, you would get nothing but blank icy windows reflecting right back at you.Like he was hearing you, and at least trying to understand you, but there was no real connection going on in those bulging round orbs.It was so odd.

Hewlett had no more time to focus on appearances because Simcoe walked briskly (as one could with a limp) over to him to shake hands.“It’s good to see you again, Major. I hope you are in good health. Your ride, was it much of a hassle?” he asked calmly.Hewlett was slow in shaking back. “N-no, I am-it was fine. Everything is fine.”Simcoe let go and wiped Hewlett’s sweat off his hand onto his breeches.Hewlett continued, “But I will say those carriage drivers need to mind their own damn business before my fist meets their business, the nosy twats” and then laughed uncomfortably.Simcoe just stared.How could he act like everything was ordinary?

The awkward silence was interrupted when Opal came in with drinks.She carried a tray of sherry and wine and ornate glasses to the central table, which earned a grateful thank you from Simcoe.Simcoe made sure to affirm to Hewlett that Opal nor the others were not servants, as he frowned upon harsh levels of servitude unless it was to the Crown, who in turn served God.They were mere paid houseworkers who had the option to leave if they so choose.It was funny how Simcoe all the sudden had a moral compass when it came to civil rights.Before Simcoe could continue on the subject, however, Hewlett took assertion and cut him off: “Why did you bring me here, John?”Simcoe smiled.

“I told you why.The war has done a number on me, something I thought I could push back. I tried my hardest to ignore all my pains, my melancholies, and my demons.But every time I tried it only came back to hit me even harder.I have many regrets, Major.”

“You know you do not have to address me as ‘Major’ anymore, right?”

“I will address you how I want to address you,” Simcoe said sternly and stony-faced.Hewlett fell quiet and Simcoe carried on.

“I might seem a monster, but I am not.I never was, actually.Go ahead and scoff at me, it doesn’t alter the truth.I lived my life going by one principle: mercy is weakness and strength is truth.My time in Setauket, my time with you and the Woodhull’s, affected me more than I care to admit.Those were the times I suppressed my own humanity for principles and blood thirst.Your lesson of mercy to me on the boat was a harsh one indeed, but one of importance.Mercy is a powerful strength.Nothing could have taught me this better than my leadership in the Queen’s Rangers.I molded them from a group of scoundrels into a unit worthy of Spartan admiration, and I did it all with a growing paternal care for them. They were _my_ men.I formed you into a hardened warrior, too.I realized that you were always a paternal figure for Setauket, even slightly for me, and I shamed you for it when really I should have been thanking you for what it would teach me.Strength is resilience.Weakness is lies.I have been lying to myself.You showed me truth, and ever since, I have pursued truth--pursued wisdom--to my greatest ability as a self-made man.There are fine people here, but I need only you to help me sort out these unresolved issues.”

Hewlett’s initial reaction was of course to be flattered, but Hewlett was smart. _Nice speech_ , he thought.Too bad he still did not fully trust him or people like him.They were born tricksters, wolves in sheep’s clothing.Maybe Simcoe really did completely change, and Hewlett should help him, but, even so, there was something...not quite right.

“Now, my life has been mostly uninteresting here, so we shall start by laying out your situation,” said Simcoe.

Before Hewlett could even object, Simcoe began shooting questions at him like an interrogator.

“Where do you live?”

“How did you get through the war’s hardships?”

“Why did you go to England?”

“What is your lady’s name?”

“Do you have children?”

“What is your current occupation?”

“How much money do you make?”

“Do you still wish to kill me?”

That particular question almost made Hewlett choke on his food, as currently they were both eating and drinking sherry, and Simcoe’s eyes were piercing him like blades.“No. Well, somewhat. I mean...enough John! This is not a torture chamber! For God’s sake,let me dine in peace!”Simcoe nodded and stopped the questioning.“Forgive me, Major. Torture was always my forte.”Hewlett gave him a “you think?” look. 

As the night went on, Hewlett was surprised by how much he increasingly became at ease, and how interested he was in their conversations.It distracted him from the flashbacks of evil Simcoe.They talked about the night that Hewlett killed one of the men and sent him back to the lieutenant colonel.

“If I remember correctly, someone told me you were busy with Holy Ground whores at the time,” Hewlett said passive-aggressively.

“Maybe,” responded Simcoe, unaffected.

That conservation turned into sarcastic jibes about how the captain/colonel was unkillable, and that somehow led to women and who they were courting.Simcoe mentioned one girl, an artist and daughter of a lieutenant, but did not expand further on it, changing the subject to philosophy.They discussed many philosophies, but the ones Hewlett was most interested in were scientific, while Simcoe was most interested in the ones about fate and free-will. He kept bringing up the “self-made man” and “determined warrior” thing, stating how often he “won” with those mindsets.Hewlett listened on and off while drinking his sherry, which was in fact the best sherry he had ever tasted.Simcoe bragged on this too, and it was no surprise.The man always had a glass in his hand.

When Hewlett brought up the apple gift with a fierce seriousness in his tone and expression, Simcoe only smirked maliciously. “It’s late, Major. We had a good talk.”

Hewlett felt his anger rising, but cooly said “Yes, I guess I should go now. I hope my presence and advice helped.”

“What? No. You’re not leaving. You will stay until I am satisfied.A week should be sufficient, I think.” 

Hewlett stared in disbelief.He walked to the window to see that it was heavily guarded with no chance of escape.“You cannot keep me here!”

“Oh but I can Edmund, and I will.”

Hewlett ran to strike him but was pulled back by men from the household, who dragged him upstairs. 

“Only for a week.We have many talks to come,” was all Simcoe said.Hewlett fought hard as he was locked into an upstairs bedroom.He tried to get out for a good while until he felt an overwhelming sleepiness and had no choice but to lie down on the bed.

Simcoe remained downstairs sipping on his drink, satisfied with himself.He hadn’t meant to force the major, but it would take a week to finish this new goal.Edmund would quickly learn to like it.He had been so lively tonight, full of knowledge and spark. He seemed happier out of the duties of war.Yet he still had fire and a hidden brutality that Simcoe could relate to.He wanted a like companion.Someone to have rituals with.

Hewlett thought today was eventful enough, but it would not be until he blacked out on the bed, into a new consciousness, that his adventure would _really_ begin.


	3. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this story is turning (no pun intended) out to be longer than I originally planned, so for right now the entire chapter count is left unknown until I finish it. 
> 
> We mainly see Hewlett's perspective here. In Chapter 4 we see Simcoe during this whole time.

“I think I need more sleep.”

That was what Hewlett had said to his fiancee the morning he woke from the dreams of apples and decaying horses.Caroline Herschel, sister of the famous astronomer and his own dear friend William Herschel, liked to sleep in the same bed with her soon-to-be husband, though they were never too intimate.His wife was of a simple beauty, but that is not what attracted Edmund to her.It was her intelligence, of a level he had never seen before in any other female creature, her astronomical and mathematical mind, that magnetized him to her.She was actually almost just as accomplished as her brother in the field; her work was known widely.Hewlett needed someone with a mind just as quick as his to stimulate him intellectually. 

She also possessed a gentle heart, and when Hewlett was in a fuss from his dream and spoke the above mentioned words, she tried to comfort him the best she could.It had only been a day and he already missed her dearly.

Nevertheless, it would be a time before he could relax in her embrace once more.His hands were, well, tied at the moment.Hewlett had passed out on the bed in the room he was being held captive in.There was a blackness that seemed to last only for a few minutes until it became light again.He soon felt a hand shaking him awake.“Hewlett? Major Hewlett? Wake up, my good man, it’s time to start.” 

“Wha..bhhh...Caroline?” Hewlett, still mostly dozing, muttered.

Hewlett opened his heavy lids to see the face of a man in a powdered wig touching him.He jumped up and slapped the man’s hand away.

“What is this? Who are you? Where is Simcoe? Answer me at once!”

“I am not sure who you are referring to, sir. You must still be quite out of it. You fainted after all those drinks.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

Hewlett only remembered talking and feasting with Simcoe, the red-haired man saying something about keeping him at his house, and then the lights all “went out.”He blinked his eyes and looked around drowsily.He was in a small room covered in wooden panels.The wigged man explained that right now he was at a party being held for the higher-ups of the war.He said that Hewlett had come to this place from another’s house, and in he strode drunker than an Irishman.He was stuttering, stumbling, and grabbed the buttocks of a woman guest he kept calling “Anna,” to which she slapped him red.He then wandered into this room and passed out.

Hewlett nearly laughed out loud.What a tale!It was so absolutely, ridiculously out of character for him that he refused to believe it ever happened, but nodded in agreement with the wigged man all the same.He had no idea what was going on, and he needed to find Simcoe urgently. Determined, he walked to the door only to be blocked by Mr. Wig.

“Step aside.”

“I can’t, Major. I was supposed to bring you back.”

“Hmph! Step aside or I will make you, clunch.”

Mr. Wig stood steadfastly at the door way. “Please, stop making this harder than it needs to be.Now, if you will, your musical talent is most required.”Hewlett looked at the man confused.After thinking about everything for another moment, he decided that being aggressive would not help his obviously already damaged reputation, and this along with a natural curiosity caused him to follow Mr. Wig into another room.This room was a little bigger, and right in the middle of it stood a gorgeous, shiny piano.

The wigged man smiled and said, “This will be your main tool for tonight.You are to play for the guests to their merriment.We all would love to hear you.”“By who’s orders? No one ever told me about this or a damned party in the first place.I just came to see someone,” Hewlett responded.“Why, Major Andre’s, of course,” chirped the man.Major Andre? He was dead.This night was getting more and more strange, and Hewlett was not sure if he was still drunk or hallucinating.Apparently Simcoe had some powerful sherry. 

Speaking of Simcoe, this was probably part of his plan.He didn’t know how he pulled it off, but somehow, someway, Simcoe had a means of getting in your head.

“Uh, I have to go-”

Mr. Wig gestured to the piano, the smile still plastered to his face.

Hewlett slowly moved towards the grand instrument.He looked back at the exit once, considering his escape, and then turned to the piano and lightly touched its keys.They were so finely constructed, so much so that Hewlett fought back the growing urge to utilize them like one urges to eat an elaborate cake, or deflower a pure virgin.

He removed his fingers, rolling them into a tight fist.With fingers and teeth clenched, his soft brown eyes flickered back and forth from the door, to the man, to the piano and so forth.The sound of rushing blood from an overactive heart overpowered his senses.He rung his hands, shook his head, and hissed under his breath, “Bloody Simcoe!”

He then plopped himself down onto the chair behind the piano, and adjusted the sheet music facing him.

The wigged man kept eyeing him closely, but Hewlett tried to tuck in his nerves and began warming up on the silky keys.

“Could I at least get some light? Good Lord.”

Mr. Wig opened two huge doors in front of the piano, which Hewlett must have missed.

Suddenly, festive light poured into the room, along with the aromas of fresh food, pine wreaths, and women’s various perfumes.

Hewlett could only sit and stare at the wondrous scene taking place.It was the most extravagant party, with the guests dressed to the nines and as cheerful as can be.They looked so happy that it was akin to a parasitic wave; Hewlett even shared in their happiness.

When they all caught a glimpse of Hewlett, however, they stopped dead in their tracks and each face gaped at him expectantly.Hewlett glanced around at all the people still as statues.He gulped.The silence was finally too painful, so Hewlett began playing.Immediately they all sprung to action, dancing joyfully.

Hewlett gradually became wrapped up in the energetic throes of the ballroom, playing dutifully, and then he saw him.John Andre, as alive as ever, playing the flute magnificently.He shone like the sun in the center of this universe: all others revolved around his life-giving light.Hewlett could hardly believe his own eyes.He slapped himself.He waved to the handsome British officer, but Andre never noticed.Andre projected enormous confidence, going from man to man, woman to woman, feeding into their jealousy, admiration, and swoons.

Hewlett whistled, but again, it fell on deaf ears and blind eyes.This frustrated the Oyster Major, but he was pressured to finish his melody before reacting too strongly.

At some point, the dance ended and Hewlett was able to rest his hands.He got up, as the wigged man had mysteriously left, and entered the ballroom.He managed to work through the throngs of people mostly unnoticed, and stood at the side of room.A waiter came by offering refreshments, but Hewlett rejected his offer, noting “Clearly I’ve had enough for tonight.”He continued to study the gleeful guests, but his immense confusion and need to find Simcoe never left his mind.

The guests soon began flowing to him.One person, then another, then another, another, another, another!Each individual showered him with praise, be it for his music or his time as an officer.The compliments shot at him like cannon fire.Hewlett had to repeatedly mention his gratitude until it was a habit, a ritual.One woman even told him he was “expected”--exactly the same as Opal before.The women in general were very flirtatious, but Edmund, always the most loyal of Loyalists, never gave in to their spells.

Afterwards, Hewlett was taken aback by what had just happened.He couldn’t help but bask in his own glory just for one night.He hadn’t even noticed that Andre had completely disappeared.

When the realization of where he was hit him again, Hewlett tried to shake the temptations of the party out of his head to focus on his real mission.He left the euphoric scene, going back through the piano room and headed for the room he first found himself in.But before he reached the doorknob, the wooden board underneath his foot creaked an awful creak.Hewlett stepped on it again.

_Creeeaakkk._

The board was loose.Hewlett fingered at it until it as well as the boards surrounding it came open.It was very dim and Hewlett had to squint to see what was under the board. 

It was a body.

The body was laying on its stomach, blindfolded.

Hewlett turned it around.

The body was Andre’s.He was grey and decaying, hundreds of maggots covering him and coming out of every crevice of his body in a worm-like swarm.They were eating him from the inside out just like poor Bucephalus in that nightmare.

Upon witnessing such an image, Hewlett bent over and vomited in shock and disgust.The moment he did that, he had another second awakening.He opened his eyes to find himself in a room, specifically a bed, and a canopy over the bed.Everything was spinning in the worst of vertigo.Hewlett shot up quickly, but felt even sicker from doing so.He waddled out of the bed, stubbing his toe along the way.He grabbed one of the banisters to keep himself from falling.The room spun and spun until Hewlett clutched his stomach in nausea.Spew came out of his mouth as it had in the dream.

Wait--dream? _How was that a dream?_ Hewlett mused. _It felt realer than real.And I should know this; I study reality for a living._

He felt even more perplexed than he had in the so-called “dream.”

_I need to sit down._

Hewlett sat on the bed, resting his head in his hands.He massaged his face roughly, with his clasped fingers trailing to the tip of his nose.He sat there for a long time trying to figure out the dream and then on what must have happened the night before.When it all came back to him, Hewlett opened his eyes wide.

Was he...drugged?

He was drugged! And now he was trapped in Simcoe’s web! _I have to get out of here dammit!_

Panicked, Hewlett hopped up and ran to the door, using all his might to break it open.He jiggled the door knob furiously, pounded on the door with his fists, and even rammed into it a few times.Nothing.Everything he tried proved futile, and the windows were boarded shut.He was doomed to rot in a clean (not so clean now) bedroom. _Excellent, just excellent,_ thought Hewlett.  What a piss-poor way for a hardened officer to go out.

Or maybe not.A knock came at the door.“Don’t fret, Major.It’s time to go downstairs.”The voice came from one of the men who had dragged him the night before.

Hewlett put his ear against the door.“Please, let me out, tell Simcoe that whatever I must had said or did that I am truly, truly sorry.”His voice went from sweet to vicious.“Or at least let the coward come up here and handle me himself.”

“Hold on a moment.”

The door was unlatched and the two men grabbed Hewlett by each arm.They told him that Simcoe was waiting to talk to him again outside, and thus this was where they brought him.Opal went into the bedroom to clean the mess.

Simcoe was standing on his porch, tea cup in hand.“Good morning, Major! Did you sleep well? I have received previous complaints that the mattress is rather cold and hard, so I hope-”

“QUIET!” Hewlett yelled.

The two men were offended, and looked at Simcoe for reassurance, who made it clear he wished to hear what his guest had to say.

Hewlett ripped his arms from the death grips of the men.“How dare you keep me against my will? Have you no decency?” Then he remembered he was talking to _John Graves Simcoe_.“Ah, never mind, do not answer that.”The two chortled in a quick break from the tension, but from Hewlett it was more nervous laughter than anything else.He went on accusing the former captain: “Let me affirm right now that I will not be taken advantage of.I know you drugged me.For what reason, I do not know, but I will not stand for it.Also, what was the party about?”

For the first time Simcoe actually looked bemused.“Party? I believe your mind is beginning to go, Major.”He legitimately did not seem to be aware of what Hewlett had gone through.

“Anyways,” Simcoe continued, “I don’t remember drugging you either.You were simply very tired.Also, this is my house, and I decide what goes on in it.I already told you why you must stay, and you might as well go along with it.”Hewlett fumed.

He vehemently rebuked Simcoe’s denials, which led to a long, heated argument.Both fought for dominance.It ultimately went nowhere, as Simcoe ended it with a strong declaration of “Enough!”Hewlett was too tired to fight him further, but he still was adamant about not drinking anything. 

Simcoe told him that this was how his English days always opened, and he longed to spend it with Hewlett, discussing things.They would begin by walking around the yard.Hewlett begrudgingly accepted.

Simcoe said something that Hewlett found particularly interesting: “You know, Edmund, you really should be careful in how you see me in your head.I at least am straightforward in my ruthlessness.You, however, keep everything so hidden under the guise of a shivering, weak little mouse.Not to mention the moment I molded you into a warrior on that ship, I was converted into the old and you the new.Do not mock me when I say that possibly I should be more frightened and untrustworthy of you then you could ever be of me.”

Hewlett was unnerved.Never once had he thought of it that way.A smile slowly crept on his face and he walked with Simcoe.

Simcoe began the daily ritual with an uncomfortable but expected question.

“So, what happened in this dream of yours?”


	4. Reminiscence

While Hewlett had boarded onto the train of adventure, Simcoe was left to himself, where he had plenty of time to think.

He thought about whether he would be able to pull off having Hewlett stay longer.He thought about his own loneliness and how he hoped this plan would pay off in the long run.He thought about the past.He thought about the first time they met.

When Simcoe and Hewlett were first assigned in their respective posts, much to what would be the surprise of many, they initially respected each other.They were technically both men with a code of honor, but in opposite ways of perceiving it.Simcoe valued the honor of conquering; Hewlett, the honor of authority.It was this that originally drew them to one another, and all their problems were set in motion the rainy day they became acquainted.

Simcoe still looked back on it with tremendously mixed feelings.He remembered it very clearly: before the events that defined the Revolution, Simcoe was a lieutenant under the command of Captain Joyce.He was not overtly fond of Joyce, finding him to be more of a henpecking fat woman than the most intolerable he knew.Joyce at least served for the great British cause, but his death spoke volumes of his seriousness about it to Simcoe.

Due to this, the young lieutenant, stationed in the American colonies, was hoping that his other superiors were of a hardier stock.Thus, he was anticipating meeting Hewlett.

The day had been grey and damp, the air filled with that kind of stifling humidity (Simcoefancied that sort of weather).He had already met John Andre, who he found to be an immensely strategic and intelligent man, if not a bit emotional and prone to the weakness of women.He now met Hewlett with content.A rehearsal drill was taking place where they were stationed, and both men were present.Simcoe saw Hewlett watching, uninterested.He decided to go over and strike up a conversation.Hewlett was a little shy at first, especially with Simcoe’s forcefulness, but he managed to introduce himself and shake the other man’s hand.Simcoe noted his status of lieutenant under Joyce, then asked Hewlett what his duties specifically were. 

“Now? Oh, I’m merely a useless Major right now.Soon, though, I will be going to New York to look over this ‘Setauket’ place and its stronghold.Thanks to these blasted rebels I might actually be of some avail,” said Hewlett.

“Interesting. I’ll be going there shortly as well.I figure since we might be working alongside each other at some point, we should get to know one another.”So Simcoe and Hewlett delved into a more personal conversation.

“Before this, I was in Long Island serving in the militia there, where I helped defend fellow Loyalists.Before that, I saw combat in Upper Canada in the previous skirmish.

Now I stand here and watch soldiers.Quite the life.What about you, Graves?”Simcoe only told him very little, and everything he spoke, and even the tone he spoke in, emphasized that he was barely restrained.The two kept chatting affably, however, until they possessed a solid idea of the other.Overall, they held each other in somewhat good regards.Secretly, Simcoe sensed weakness (he detected Hewlett’s fear of combat immediately) and Hewlett sensed malevolence.Of course, when they were actually forced to be close, to interact, to even operate together, and truly become familiar without anything hidden this time, their relationship quickly went downhill.

Simcoe sat at his desk, hardly getting any work done whilst remembering how tense it always was.Maybe he was too rough on Hewlett, and now any trust was completely smashed.Good-natured Hewlett would still help him though, he was sure of it. _It was mostly his fault I had to be rough, anyway,_ Simcoe thought. _The toe-less oyster owes me._ He crossed his long legs as another significant memory sprang to mind.

Simcoe had trotted into the Setauket garrison one night when Hewlett was there late.They still wore their white wigs and bright red uniforms at this time.In this particular memory, Hewlett was the one at his desk.“Good evening.” Simcoe said nonchalantly.Hewlett rolled his eyes in annoyance.He sighed heavily without looking up.“Good evening,” he snarked. “Why exactly are you here? Shouldn’t you be busy tormenting some poor soul instead of doing your duties?” 

Simcoe smiled a little and returned, “I wish to talk to you about something very dear and personal to me.”Hewlett looked up, eyeing him suspiciously.“I don’t think that is an appropriate action.”Simcoe did not care in the least.He jumped right into what he wanted to say: “Believe it or not, I think I may be in love, Major.I know that’s not the standard fare you hear from your everyday men, but it’s the cold hard truth, nonetheless.”

Hewlett stopped writing.“Are you serious? You came into this church at THIS hour to tell me of your frivolous schoolboy feelings?Your superior? In the dreadful seriousness of WARTIME?? One of these days you are going to be court-martialed and I will enjoy every second of it, I swear.”Simcoe understood his sentiments but still hung on to his confession: “Listen, just, just hear me out Major.I have no one else to tell this to, as the others only ridicule me.You are much _softer_ \--I know I can trust you.”He didn’t even dare mention the poems.

_What on earth is he on about...or up to..._ thought Hewlett.

“There is this woman at the local tavern.I see her there almost every day.I tell you, she is the most beautiful sight to ever be blessed to the eyes.Dark hair, creamy skin, big, brown eyes, and a charming spirit...her name is Anna Strong.”

“Who is Anna Strong?” The major asked.

“She’s married to Selah Strong-”

“You’re after a married woman?”

“Such an astute observation! You worked that out yourself?” 

Hewlett rubbed his eyes and said, “Don’t forget why you’re here, Captain Simcoe.It’s definitely not to gawk at ladies.”Simcoe nodded, saying “Of course.I’m not dim.I simply wanted to express my emotions, which is such a rarity between officers.Apparently, you do not want to listen, but you’ll have to hear it regardless.

I’m sure if Selah was out of the way, she would come flocking to me.She’s so lovely, independent, and clever.She would surely bear me attractive and hardy children.”Simcoe licked his lips and his unblinking eyes wandered into space.

Hewlett nearly shivered.When it came to the fairer sex, Simcoe could go from sweet to downright disturbing.Frankly, he did not trust the pasty, bug-eyed soldier around females, and so said nothing to encourage him to pursue this poor Anna.He did, however, finally gave one tidbit of advice, if only to shut the smitten bugger up so he could at last retire.He could have just chewed him out, but he knew Simcoe was usually a committed soldier and besides, it wasn’t in Hewlett’s nature.Simcoe was lucky he was so easy on him.He cleared his throat and spoke clearly: “Women like for their best interests at heart to be acknowledged and respected.In this case, for Anna’s best interest, I would recommend not interfering too much.” 

Simcoe agreed, acting like an innocent, lovesick puppy rather than someone who, without anyone else’s knowledge, drove nails into the skull of a rebel prisoner earlier that day.Little did Hewlett know he would later go after Anna more so than ever.

Hewlett concluded with, “Now be on your way. I’m not here to listen to and work out your sexual frustrations, Captain.”

Simcoe turned around to leave, but, apparently feeling especially brave and playful, stopped, stayed, and said, “I think you want to help me with those frustrations far more than you’re currently letting on.Tell you what--with those same pretty brown eyes, dark hair, and pale skin, you can dress up like Mrs. Strong so I may mount you and have my way.I promise I won’t hurt you, I’ll be tender,” Simcoe winked.

Hewlett sat and stared, mouth agape.He was never so insulted and repulsed in his life! He sputtered, “You...you..you are pushing serious boundaries here, Captain.Do not push them any further.Good night!”

But Simcoe still challenged him. “Oh, apparently I hit a nerve.Was what I said too close to home for you? You did always give me the molly impression, so.Or is it perhaps that you wanted to be the man--the mounter? Well, I guess I would look even prettier in a dress...”

“I said good night!!”

“Or maybe it’s that you hate me to the core, and you would rather me cut myself up so you can go at it with the wounds.”

Hewlett gave him a death glare.“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You are the molly one, sir, acting like you want to suck off my prick, or screw me like a woman!Is that what jollies you, you sick ginger bastard?”

Simcoe had an even harder death glare. “Are you implying I’m some kind of Sodomite?” He snarled, acting as if this was a great offense.“After I just talked so fondly about a _woman_?”

Hewlett’s face grew redder.

Simcoe tried hard not to burst out laughing.It was just too easy.Hewlett was reacting so seriously and sensitively to his obviously childish teasing, it was hilarious.He eased up on him, straightening himself and reporting to the officer like a good soldier. “Thank you for the advice.If I may return the favor and advise you, I would say that you need to loosen up and take a break, Major. Very badly,” Simcoe said, and then took off his hat, bowed a little, put the hat back on, and walked out of the garrison.

As soon as he shut the door, Hewlett chuckled and shook his head.John was something else.

Simcoe never tried something like that with Hewlett again.He instead grew more serious, manipulative, and vindictive once he realized how he could _really_ work the major.

These memories and more came flooding back to Simcoe as he sat and thought.Of course, he only remembered things from his point of view.Hewlett’s true notions were majorly unknown to him. 

The truth was, he never hated Hewlett.In fact, he was genuinely looking forward to their upcoming consultations.He did used to envy the major in some ways, and every so often felt rage toward his unwillingness to bend to his will.Hewlett was such a man of ethics, and Simcoe knew ethics as well, but the difference was he didn’t put it into practice because he just _didn’t care._ The problem with Hewlett was that he cared far too much for far too many things.But he didn’t hate the man.Hate was such a potent word.No, Simcoe bore no hatred for him, especially now.Now he longed to see how much Hewlett had transformed, and the two could confide in one another just as Simcoe attempted to do that night in the church, and when he was set to do something, nothing and no one could stop him.It was no secret---he liked to win.One thing that did bother him, however, was how Hewlett was always so quick to assume that he was nothing but hate; love must be impossible for him.That was quite far from the truth, as Simcoe desired love like anyone else.And that Anna Strong, Lord knows they both “loved” her until she tore them down.He even held a distinct, unusual kind of love for Hewlett himself that one only has for an old enemy, something he couldn’t quite explain.Joke or not, molly or not, Hewlett being so angrily adverse to his initial offer in the church still slightly ruffled him.He did promise he’d be gentle.

Simcoe suddenly felt heavy tiredness, and folding his arms, closed his eyes for a second.Right when he might doze off, he heard “The British Grenadiers” play so loudly in his head he opened his eyes in a jerk.The room appeared to be spinning, and Simcoe rolled his eyes and shook his head until it stopped.He got up and checked the clock.Time to start this glorious morning right!

He put away papers and promised to get back to them later.He organized the books he was reading: symbology, strategy, psychology, philosophy, and the history of cults.He then popped his shoulders, and did quick rituals before meeting with Hewlett again.The rituals begun with Simcoe adjusting and dusting the weapons on his wall to perfection.He readied the tea pot, and set the table.He went to his room, washed his face, and shaved.He took the blade, and slowly sliced his arm with it to the point of ecstasy, doing then a similar thing by poking his lower eyeball with a needle.The blood and cut were easy to clean with his experience.  He grabbed a tiny bottle of something unknown and happily poured a drop onto the wound before patching it up.After leaving the washroom, he threw down his cane and marched over to an empty spot without a trace of injury in his step: like it was never there.He got on all fours, and did many push-ups and sit-ups without breaking a sweat.By the time he left his chambers and a servant came to check up on him, he had returned to his slow, pained gait. 

Finally, the kettle in the kitchen was whistling mightily.Simcoe removed it from the stove, but he soon noticed with the dying whistling were eerie shrieks to match it coming from the cellar below.He immediately stopped what he was doing and fetched his gun near the door.He carried it with him down into the cellar.

After he came back up, Simcoe latched the door shut.He was carrying a thin box.Opening it, he carefully pulled out a serrated bayonet.He fingered his beloved for a bit until putting it back in its carrier and tucking the carrier into his jacket.He would be needing this today.

He dipped more of the mysterious bottled substance into his tea, and sauntered outside with it.His dear associate would be awake very, very soon.


	5. The Bayonet

“So, what happened in this dream of yours?”

Hewlett fiddled with his hands.The dream was stressful enough and he did not know whether he wanted to relive it or not.Simcoe looked at him expectantly, ready to hear about a vision so powerful it fooled one into thinking it real.

“Well, uh,” Hewlett started, “it may be a bit complicated to explain, but it happened after I went into a deep sleep last night.You didn’t happen to put hallucinogenic mushrooms in that meal, did you?”

Hewlett went on to detail the entire dream, despite how hard it was for him to do so.When he told the story, he noticed parts that became more significant to him as he said them aloud, and Simcoe also pointed out factors he hadn’t considered.

“I’m getting the impression that you had and still have a lot of regrets and dashed hopes,” Simcoe suggested.“How profound was Major Andre’s death to you, really?”

Hewlett thought about it and said, “Not as profound as it apparently was to me in the dream.When I saw his body, I just...I...I don’t know..”“Anyways, it was merely an aggressive subconscious, nothing to wriggle about now.I hope your night was more tolerable.”Hewlett changed the subject.

“It was the usual.I must confess, I do not sleep a lot.I have a tendency for...for nightmares” Simcoe confessed.

Hewlett’s interest heightened and he urged Simcoe to explain further.

“Nothing much to explain beyond what I’ve already said.Like I said, I still carry many demons, and they seem to enjoy continuously lounging in my mind.”

Hewlett wondered that if he was telling the truth, maybe deprivation of any sort had something to do with his teetering mental state other than what already poisoned Simcoe’s mind from day one.

“Besides, there’s simply too much to think and do to rest.This dozing English countryside is not going to watch over itself at night,” Simcoe added.He waited for a bit until asking, “Do you miss Anna Strong?”

Hewlett stopped dead in his tracks at the casual mention of that name. “Why” was all that came out of his mouth, in a sharp, hostile tone.

Simcoe threw up his hands in defense, saying, “It was only a question.I was thinking about her last night, and I know you likely had special relations with her as well, so I wanted to know if you ever still thought back on her or even missed her.”

“No, I do not reflect on her to a great extent, but I have to admit she’s not one to completely leave your head, especially after near marrying her.”Hewlett sighed heavily with shame.“She was beautiful though.So resourceful, so _strong_.Never has a last name been more fitting to a person.”

Simcoe nodded in agreement and vocalized his own opinion: “Yes, I suppose.It’s too bad though that she ended up being a simple-minded disloyal wench seduced by treason and the bungling dwarf Woodhull.To be entirely truthful, she probably should have been hanged, but I would not want to be the one to do it.She’s out of our lives---it’s a good thing.”Simcoe said this with conviction but had a hint of what might be sadness in his voice.

“You’re right. She was not, is not, and never will be your trouble, so stop dwelling on her,” Hewlett said protectively.

“She could have been my trouble had you not interfered-” a fierce Simcoe started.

“Never mention her again.” Hewlett quipped with such fury that it put an end to the Anna dialogue for good.

The two walked around the grounds in silence for a while, trying to admire the beauty around them.

Simcoe stopped and cupped one particularly pretty, large rose on a bush.He inspected it, saying, “Life is truly a wonder.I think we often take it for granted.The daily routines can be quite dull, but sometimes out of that dullness grows beauty.” His fingers lightly touched the fresh dew on the reddish-magenta petals.

_There he goes again_ , thought Hewlett.Apparently Simcoe was not interested in making natural small-talk to his visitor/captive, and instead kept going back to pseudo-deep subjects like he was some kind of philosopher. _If being a violent son of a whore was a philosophy._ “Ah, yes.Life is surely taken for granted.People really must take more time studying it, because it can teach us multitudes about ourselves, and what is so much bigger than us.Hence, one of the things I love about science is that it becomes something of a tool, a powerful tool at that, which one may use to harness wisdom in the search for something greater.Locke’s philosophy tells us that empiricism is something to be gained, and I think there’s some truth to that when it comes to analyzing and thus conquering life, in the barest sense of the word,” Hewlett played along.He got so absorbed into his own rambling that he did not even notice Simcoe picking off each petal slowly and rubbing his fingers against the thorns.“Life is ambition,” he said. “It was created for those dwelling in it to strive. We are in the world, not of it.”Hewlett listened and then felt his stomach growl.They left to eat breakfast, and on the way there Hewlett avoided stepping on a decayed rat coated in maggots.

At breakfast, the talking did not stop.Hewlett was the first to speak, questioning Simcoe. 

“Was that apple a threat?”

“What?”

“Was that apple, the one you sent me, a threat?”

Simcoe stopped chewing and looked at Hewlett thoughtfully before answering, “It was a clever invitation is all.At least, I thought so.”

“I can only assume you wanted to harm Caroline to get to me, but you just do not have the same grit you once did, I’m afraid,” said Hewlett.

“Ha! Oh Edmund, you just love to reach, don’t you? Quite surprising from the meticulous, scientific Locke worshipper himself.No you fool, I had no intention of doing anything to either of you. How much clearer must I make it that I am not the person you knew in America?” Simcoe said the last word with slight disgust, as if it was a blasphemous curse word.

Hewlett didn’t flinch in laying his next claim: “I know.I was the one who propagated the idea in the first place, in case you’ve already forgotten. 

“No, no, but reminders are never unnecessary.” Watching the servants take away the dishes, Simcoe went on to say, “Everyone takes their merry time these days. You wouldn’t see me doing it. In battle you take action or you die.I believe I will die, however, before another one of those retired generals I see so much quits going on about their vapid hobbies and their wife’s bosoms.”

An amused Hewlett agreed. “People who lack seriousness apply it to their mouths whenever the venture is applicable. Dolls playing in a dollhouse.” 

“I have dolls that engage in more profound activities than the cluckings and squabbling of those useless chickens,” Simcoe quipped.

“I had no idea you played with dolls, Simcoe!” 

“You are not my ordained judge.” Simcoe clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Tsk. Bigots everywhere. And here I thought you were my friend!”

Hewlett couldn’t help but be a little charmed by his colleague’s wit, if only to forget about his burning rage for him for a bit.

“Another thing war has taught me is to always be perceptive of all that is around you.Never let your guard down and be prepared.Situational awareness, I believe it’s called,” Simcoe said.Hewlett wiped his mouth and nodded. “Aye. I’ve learned the same thing.

They both rested in their respective rooms after breakfast, and after lunch returned to the outdoors.

Their talking went on and on, recapping their lives, until Hewlett came to a startling realization.The more Simcoe spoke, the more he realized the man was almost... _normal._ Sure, he still seemed a little odd and his voice stayed at the same unsettling fluctuation, but he really did appear to have changed.His troubles were the same as anyone else’s, his physical pains were the same as anyone else’s, his post-war stress was similar to that of other soldiers he had heard, he was knowledgable, and he was clearly trying very hard to transform himself.This disturbed Hewlett greatly.He did not want to relate to Simcoe.Simcoe was supposed to be an inhuman beast, who, though he had no sincere belief in it, if anyone deserved hell it was him.Yet here he was behaving like a human being, and Hewlett couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of empathy.He even sympathized about the Anna issue, but never once showed it.This meant that not only were people capable of some kind of redemption, but also that anyone was capable of being beastly, even himself. Hewlett shivered.

Simcoe was adamant about leaving this place for bigger future plans, and Hewlett could not help but understand him, even with his impending marriage.They discussed potential business ideas with a few playful jabs at each other in between.They were almost like estranged brothers with an incredibly complicated past relationship who were now reuniting and finding the other has matured, finding solace from their shared abuse by their parent---the war.Hewlett tried to remind himself not to get too close, fearing he was being manipulated.Still, it was a strange flurry of feelings.

At one point they arrived at a towering wooden gate with chipped paint. 

“And here are the hounds!” Simcoe gestured to the gate. “The hunting dogs sleep right behind here.You will get to see them in action when we go on a hunt soon.Not today, of course, but soon.”

Hewlett thought that the dogs’ living place was rather shoddy compared to everything else on the land, and he felt bad for them.“What do they catch?”

“Foxes, mostly.Beautiful creatures, but they also make fine furs.”

Hewlett ran his fingers over the wood.Suddenly, a fearsome low growl sounded from behind. 

Huge paws jumped and pounded on the fence so strongly it sent Hewlett stumbling back, eyes wide. 

Simcoe noticed his expression.“They’re unable to get out, I assure you.They only react that way to strangers.” However, Simcoe quietly unlocked the gate to see what might happen.Time to test Hewlett’s loyalty with the most loyal of creatures. 

Several vicious hounds ran out the gate and immediately headed right to Hewlett. 

The major yelled and ran as the dogs chased him snarling and snapping at his feet.

Simcoe just watched and grinned.

Hewlett tried to climb up another fence and kick the dogs away, but one of them grabbed his pants and tugged hard enough for it to rip. 

“STOP!” He yelled.He saw Simcoe beginning to laugh.

Finally Hewlett commanded the dogs to get down with such ferocity that they eventually gave up.Simcoe clapped.“Well done! I knew you had some sand, Major.They react the best to only the strongest of men.”

Hewlett was so mad he could barely speak.He caught his breath and gritted his teeth as Simcoe locked his hounds back up.

“I hope you get mauled by your own animals,” Hewlett at last sputtered.

“Maybe,” replied Simcoe, “but not today. Today I have something I really, really would like to show you.”

“No way in hell.I’ve had quite enough for today.Now, if you excuse me...”Hewlett sharply turned to leave, but Simcoe grabbed his arm tightly.“Ah ah ah! No you don’t. I have been waiting for this too long.”Hewlett yanked his arm away.“I said no.” 

“Now!”

“No!”

They were becoming like bickering brothers again.

When Simcoe tried the third time, Hewlett pushed him so hard it took the captain aback for a second.But only for a second.Simcoe started,

“Alright, I am sorry for earlier.I was just trying to create some entertainment, for God’s sake.If you had one bone of humor in your frail body you might actually understand.You should try humor occasionally.Other times I would have forbidden it, because reality is not a joke or a game, but come on, Major.Live a little.Loosen your cravat. It’s a kind of healing.Now, are you going to come with me or not?You need more adventure in your life and I’m here to give it to you.Time to get out of the nest and fly free, birdy, before the cage of marriage is all you’ll see.Let’s go.”

Hewlett looked understandably hesitant.

“Let’s go,” Simcoe repeated with more warmth and spirit in his voice and typically dead eyes.Hewlett scowled, turned back at the fence, and when his face returned to match Simcoe’s, he looked mischievous.“Well, go on with it you shite-faced fop.”

Simcoe pulled him all the way to the cellar.He opened the door.“Right in here.”It was very dark down there, and Hewlett looked to Simcoe.Simcoe nodded.“Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

Not wanting to appear any more cowardly to the captain, Hewlett slowly stepped down the stone stairs into the cellar.It was musky, dark, and reeked of mildew.Simcoe followed and grabbed a lantern from the corner.He lit it and went to the opposite corner of the room.Hewlett wandered around, inspecting all the supplies and preserved food.

“I must get this place straightened up at some point.Clutter does not bode with a dignified man such as myself,” Simcoe said as he rummaged through things.

“Tell me about it. I need to sell all my needless heirlooms,” said Hewlett.

He came across a barrel.He ran his finger across the lid which ended up in a grimy, dusty finger.He cringed and wiped it on his jacket. 

“I will say that the walls would probably look quite striking in red, much like our wondrous old army, don’t you think? I must confess you worked the red far better than I ever did.I’m a green fellow.”He glanced at Hewlett and winked as he took out a box to look through.

Hewlett laughed.“Why thank you.Yes, red is a powerful but pleasant color.”Just as he said this, he noticed something red on the barrel and his smile quickly disappeared. 

He carefully picked it up.

It was a toenail.A _human_ toenail.

He examined it closely.It was overgrown, yellowish, and coated in dried blood.It smelled horrible but looked still fresh.From the cuticle, he could tell it was ripped off by someone.Hewlett lifted his head in terrifying discernment.

“You alright?” Simcoe suddenly inquired.

“Uh, yes, yes.I think I’m still a little tired.”Hewlett flicked the toenail to the mossy floor.Sweat beads began forming on his forehead and underarms.

“Me too.Anyway, I found it.”Simcoe pulled out a large grey case and opened the silver latch.Carefully, he took out the pieces residing in it and put them together.

When Hewlett saw what he had pieced together, he looked surprised.

Standing right in front of Simcoe was a beautifully crafted telescope.A newer model, he reckoned. 

Simcoe proudly said, “This was quite the expense, you know.I probably should not keep it in such a place, but ah well.I played around with it of course, but I specifically acquired this for you and your use.I knew if--no, when, I ever was to see you again, you would be delighted.The stars are your pleasure, correct? I hope it works for you. Go ahead, try it.”He handed the mechanism to Hewlett, who touched it in awe.“You..you got this...for me?” 

“Yes, I believe I just said that,” Simcoe responded with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Hewlett adjusted it and looked through.It worked finer than any he had before.He was impressed, but also still disturbed by the toenail and the fact that Simcoe _knew_ he was going to see him again.He cleared his throat as Simcoe was staring a hole into him, waiting for his reaction.“Thank you, John.This will do nicely.Caroline will have a fit of excitement when she takes a gander at it! I am really, truly quite flattered.”Hewlett forced a smile in attempts to quell Simcoe.

“Excellent.We will try it tonight.”

“Actually, it may not work completely right now.Telescopes can take time tuning, especially when new.”

“Excuse me?”Simcoe gave him such a cold stare it creeped him out.

“Uh, no, I mean, we can certainly try it tonight, yes.”

“Very good.Alright, let’s go back up.It smells like an old man’s pits down here.” Simcoe coughed and went back up the stone steps, letting sunshine back into the cellar when he opened the doors.The sun glared into Hewlett’s eyes when he walked back up.He hoped the telescope would work.

Then Simcoe led him to their last outdoor stop for the day. 

The woods.

They went pretty deep into the forest, and the sun rays could be seen between tree branches.

Hewlett’s already present nervousness reached a peak when Simcoe had led him to the outermost ridges of the woods in his property.Hewlett looked around.No one and nothing was anywhere close to them now.

“Nice trees you have here.I suspect I did not come to look at greenery, however,” Hewlett snarked.

Simcoe nodded. “Heh, no. This is actually the hunting grounds.I also like to come here to think by myself sometimes.It’s rather soothing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Tomorrow we will return here to hunt.I hope you don’t squirm at the sight of gutted deer like you do at the sight of gutted soldiers...or at the sight of doe-eyed brunettes,” Simcoe side-eyed him at that last part.

Hewlett faked a small, forced laugh. “No I’ve been on hunting outings before, trust me. I guess I just don’t see the general point of killing something for nothing.”This time it was Simcoe who forced a smile.“You get accustomed to it,” he responded with a snake-like sneer.

“In fact, I would not kill it for nothing...for sport, for food, yes, all of those things.It allows for a man’s natural tendency for violence to release itself.Besides, I usually blunt the poor thing first...”

Hewlett was not facing Simcoe but he could hear him pulling the bayonet out of his jacket.Adrenaline rushed through his veins and numerous paranoid thoughts dominated his mind, with images of bloody toenails being the most prominent.

Before Hewlett--or Simcoe--could even blink, the major grabbed a large, gnarly tree branch and held it in a threatening pose.“Try it Simcoe, and I’ll finish what I started on that ship.”


End file.
